Mishpakhah
by molly2012
Summary: AU. Sequel to 'Genesis'. Gibbs returns to Israel as joint leader of a new NCIS-Mossad counter-terrorism team, alongside his new partner Ziva David. It was never going to be easy but, when their first case comes too close to home, both professional and personal limits are tested.
1. Chapter 1

_Lots of people were asking about a sequel to 'Genesis' - and here it is :). _

_If you haven't read 'Genesis', I would recommend reading that before this one, but I guess you wouldn't get totally lost if you didn't. And, for those that read it but need a quick recap, 'Genesis' ended with Gibbs flying back to DC for three weeks, having accepted a new position as joint leader, alongside Ziva, of a new NCIS-Mossad counter-terrorism team to be based in Tel Aviv, while Jenny Shepard takes over his team in DC. In personal terms, he and Ziva are now in an established (albeit very new) relationship. _

_Although I never gave any kind of date for 'Genesis', I had it in my mind that the story was set in October 2002. So this carries almost straight on from that. _

_Enjoy! And reviews are always very welcome :)._

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with NCIS. I'm just playing with the characters and then (hopefully) putting them back where I found them. _**

* * *

_Gaza City. 25th November 2002_

The basement was stifling. Sweat pooled under his arms, and ran down his back in tiny rivulets that congregated at the waistband of his cargo pants, causing the material to rub uncomfortably against his skin as he leaned against the back of the wooden chair. The air was heavy with the smell of petrol and grease, and the motorbike in pieces in the corner indicated that someone had been using the space as a makeshift garage. He wondered briefly how they - whoever it was - had managed to get the bike down here, since there was no outside door that he could see. The only way in or out was the staircase that he had walked down just ten minutes before. But it was a puzzle he didn't waste time in trying to solve.

Everything was quiet. Unnervingly quiet. The rocket fire that had been so deafening earlier had ceased, but he imagined that the streets outside were still deserted. They would probably remain so now until the morning, people too scared to venture out into the darkness unless it was an emergency. They knew by now that, when rockets were fired over the security fence, retaliation would not be long in coming. And no one wanted to be exposed when it did.

Even the house itself was silent. He could hear nothing from the rooms above - no footsteps, no voices - and he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. The only sound was his own breathing, deep and loud in the close atmosphere of the basement, and the movements of the woman sitting opposite him, over by the wall.

He knew her. But now he did not recognise her. There was a steely look in her eyes that he had not seen before, and a cold, methodical concentration in the way she held the gun, turning it over in her hands, checking the balance and the weight of it. He could have told her that it was a little on the heavy side for her and that, in an ideal situation, she should have been using something lighter. He could have told her that it pulled ever so slightly to the right when it was fired, so that if you wanted a perfect shot you had to aim a degree to the left, and that the recoil was greater than she was probably used to.

It was, after all, his gun.

But, since she was about to use it on him, he didn't tell her any of that.

When she broke the silence, her voice was the same as he remembered. Quiet, gentle, with a lilting hint of amusement; the voice of someone who loves life. It had suited her then. Now, he couldn't reconcile it with the woman in front of him.

'So'.

She finally looked up from the gun, and over at him.

'I hope you are ready'.

Ready for what? To talk? To die?

Was there such a thing as being ready to die?

He had looked down the barrel of a gun before, more than once. He had been an inch away from taking his last breath and hoping that hell wasn't as bad as they made out, because he was convinced that was where he was headed. And, on those occasions, he remembered feeling...ambivalent. He remembered thinking that, if this was it, then so be it. Just get it over with.

This time was different.

Every cell in his body was screaming at him to do something, even though he knew there wasn't a lot he could do. If he moved, she would pull the trigger. If he shouted, she would pull the trigger. And he didn't have another weapon on him.

But none of that stopped the survival instinct kicking in. He didn't just not want to die.

For the first time, Leroy Jethro Gibbs wanted, more than anything, to live.

* * *

_Washington DC. 4__th__ November 2002_

'Nothing changes'.

Gibbs did not look up from the strip of wood he was sanding, but a quick smile crossed his face as he heard the familiar voice. He had known she was there. He had been expecting her. He just knew he didn't need to make a special effort.

'Yeah, how's that?'

His hands continued to work, moving slowly backwards and forwards with the grain, and the redheaded woman at the top of his basement stairs smiled.

'You. Basement. Boat. Bourbon'.

She started to walk down, her heels sharp on the stairs, and Gibbs only looked up once she had reached him. Long hair, petite figure, twinkling green eyes. She looked exactly the same as when he had last seen her two years before. Throwing down the sandpaper, he turned to the workbench behind him and emptied the nails out of a small jar.

Jenny Shepard grimaced.

'Some things should change'.

But still, she accepted it with a shrug when he handed her the jar with a finger-width of bourbon in the bottom.

'Surprised it took you so long, Jen'.

She smiled at the use of her nickname.

'Well, thanks to you, I've had a mountain of bureaucracy to wade through'.

She took a sip of the fiery amber liquid, and swallowed hard as Gibbs smirked. She never had taken to bourbon particularly well.

'Moving out of the States was a hell of a lot easier than moving back in'.

'Yeah, how was Rota?'

'Hot'. She gestured ruefully to her spattered raincoat. 'Sunny'.

She took another sip of her drink, looking at him teasingly over the rim of the jar.

'But not as hot as where you're going'.

He inclined his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips, but he didn't reply and Jenny raised her eyebrows.

'She must be pretty special'.

'It's a good job. Could be interesting'.

She laughed as she pulled over a stool and sat down.

'Come on, Jethro. This is me you're talking to. And you've dragged me back here from a pretty cushy gig in Spain. I think I at least deserve the juicy gossip'.

Gibbs shook his head, taking a mouthful of his own bourbon. He had forgotten how close he and Jenny had once been, and how, despite his best efforts, he had never been able to get much past her. It looked as if she was right. Some things didn't change.

_She must be pretty special. _

'Yeah'. He nodded. 'She is'.

He tried to push away the image of Ziva David that suddenly flashed into his mind. Her long dark hair, her brown eyes that could flash and sparkle with every emotion under the sun if she chose to let them. Her perfect figure...but this was definitely not the time or the place to be thinking about that...her drive and talent, her determination to succeed, her strength. The slight vulnerability that he suspected she had never displayed to anyone else. Her poise, the graceful way she carried herself, the infectious laugh that always made him smile too.

The way she made him feel alive.

He blinked as he realised Jenny was staring at him, an amused grin on her face.

'Wow'. Her voice was slightly mocking. 'You really have got it bad'.

She was probably right. And if Ziva hadn't been involved, he didn't think there was any way he would have accepted to offer to move to Israel as part of a new counter-terrorism team. But that didn't mean that the whole world had to know it.

'Good money, too'.

Jenny snorted.

'Since when has that even crossed your radar?' She placed her empty nail jar back down on the workbench. 'Point taken, though. But...Jethro?'

He raised his eyebrows, noting her suddenly serious expression.

'Be careful. I've heard that Eli David is not the easiest man to work for. And seeing his daughter, mixing work and...well. You know how badly it can go wrong'.

She didn't need to remind him of the details of when it had gone so badly wrong before, since she was sitting right in front of him, and Gibbs didn't reply. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, how much that sometimes worried him.

Jenny straightened up, her demeanour suddenly businesslike.

'So, is there anything I need to know? About your team?'

Gibbs thought for a moment before shaking his head. He had pushed for Jenny to take over his team in DC - it was one of the conditions he had set before he had accepted the move to Tel Aviv - and he had done so because he knew she was a damn good agent. And his was a damn good team. They deserved the best.

'No'. He paused. 'Just don't take any crap off DiNozzo'.

'Is he likely to give me any?'

Gibbs shrugged.

'It's all bluster'.

'I can give as good as I get'.

He couldn't help smiling at that. He knew fine well what Jenny was capable of.

'Oh, I know'.

'When do you go?'

'Three days'.

She looked around her at the half-finished boat still upside down on the support rack, the tools that still littered the workbench, and then up to the ceiling, where the living room above was still fully furnished - well, as furnished as it had ever been.

He answered her unspoken question.

'Trial period, six months. I'm not selling yet'.

'Ah'. She nodded, and paused, smiling at him. 'When you do...Just don't forget to tell the estate agents how to get that boat out of here. Because I have no doubt that you won't be back'.

'We'll see'.

He hoped she was right. And, as he returned her smile, he couldn't help thinking that her confidence in him - especially considering how it had ended between them - was touching.

She stood up with a sigh.

'I had better go. Early start tomorrow'.

When she looked up at him, he could see a trace of sadness in her eyes, a wistfulness for the thought that, had things worked out slightly differently, it could have been her that he turned his life upside down for, and he reached out and softly ran a finger down her cheek before dropping his hand back by his side.

'Another life, Jen'.

'Yeah'. She nodded, smiling again before turning and starting up the stairs, pausing when she reached the top.

'Good luck, Jethro'.

Gibbs remained where he was for a few minutes after she had gone. He heard the front door open and close again, heard the faint sound of a car engine start up, and inhaled the lingering scent of her perfume that had mingled with the sawdust and bourbon and the soft rain that had been falling outside.

He missed Ziva.

Ever since he had returned from Israel, he had thought about her constantly, and he had to keep reminding himself that they had only known each other for a month. Four weeks. And, for three of those weeks, they had not even been on the same continent.

But it seemed that time no longer had much meaning.

Four weeks should not have been long enough for him to develop a niggling feeling that something was missing, and yet that feeling had been there ever since he had left her at Ben-Gurion airport. It should not have been long enough for him to miss her so badly that, every so often, that niggle transformed into a full-blown ache that hit him straight in the gut, but that had happened on several occasions. It certainly should not have been long enough to warrant moving across an ocean to be with her, but that was exactly what he was about to do. And the three short days that were left until he was due to fly back to Israel on a one-way ticket should go over quickly, but instead they seemed to stretch out like an endless blank in front of him. He suspected that they would be some of the longest days of his life.

Checking his watch, he realised that it would be almost four in the morning in Tel Aviv and, even considering her habit of getting up early for a run, Ziva would not yet be awake. They had managed to speak most days, sometimes at more sociable hours than others, but he didn't want to call now and wake her up. He would give it another hour or so, and do a bit more work on the boat - despite the fact that he would be leaving it behind half-finished. Running his hand over the smooth grain, he realised just how badly he hoped that Jenny was right. He didn't want to come back to a boat and an empty basement.

One hour. Three days. Four weeks.

It didn't really matter.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all the follows / reviews for the last chapter! Glad I've got you all intrigued :). The next few chapters will take us chronologically through those three weeks in between Gibbs leaving DC and ending up in a basement in Gaza, and I promise all will be revealed - but slowly!_

_Enjoy x_

* * *

_Tel_ _Aviv_, _Israel_, _8_ _November_ _2002_

'Stay here'.

Gibbs reached out and hooked his arm securely around Ziva's waist to prevent her from rolling out of bed, and she gave a small squeal as he pulled her backwards towards the pillows that had somehow ended up against his stomach rather than underneath her head.

'Stop!'

She was laughing as she turned over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows, and poked him in the shoulder.

'We need to get up, Jethro, otherwise we will be late'.

Gibbs reached over to the bedside table for his watch, squinting at it while he moved his other hand up from Ziva's waist to run it through the dark curls that reached halfway down her back.

Ten minutes past two - in the afternoon.

Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure whether he had changed it to Israeli time or not.

'That right?'

Ziva glanced at the watch and nodded, her brown eyes sparkling as she moved the pillows out of the way and lazily traced her index finger up and down his chest.

'Which means that we have been in this bed for approximately seventeen hours'.

Gibbs thought about it for a moment, and then chuckled as he realised she was right.

'Shocking'.

'It is', Ziva agreed, pushing herself up to a sitting position. 'So. Considering that this is your first afternoon in your new apartment, would you like the first shower?'

He shook his head.

'You go'. A smile tugged at his lips as he indicated the en-suite. 'I'll watch you'.

His comment earned him another poke, but she was grinning as she obliged by getting up and slowly walking around the bed to the small bathroom. Her body was every bit as sculpted and smooth and perfectly curved as he remembered and, although he had not really intended to stay in bed and watch her in the shower, he found that he couldn't take his eyes off her as she switched on the water and stepped under the hot spray. She really was beautiful. And he was finally here, with her.

Part of him still couldn't quite believe it.

The flight the previous day had been long, but uneventful, and he had landed on time at four-fifteen in the afternoon. Paperwork, passport control, customs, baggage reclaim...all of it had passed in a blur, until he had emerged into the arrivals area and had seen her waiting for him. That part had been very clear indeed.

He could still picture her amused expression as she had caught sight of his one suitcase.

'_Are you not planning on staying long?'_

_'Just travelling light'. _

She had driven them back here, in terrifying style, to the place that he would be calling home for the next few weeks. It was a small apartment that Mossad either rented or owned - he wasn't sure which - in the southern Florentine neighbourhood, fairly quiet but, Ziva had assured him, central for most things and very safe. And - most importantly - close to her own home, just a ten minute walk away.

The apartment itself was on the second floor of a detached house, with no one currently living on the floor below, and was fully furnished. Plain, but modern and clean. From what he had seen of things so far, it seemed nice enough...but admittedly, he had not seen very much. Just the hallway, which had laminate wood floors and cream painted walls, and where his suitcase was still sitting after having been abandoned as soon as Ziva had closed the front door behind them, and the kitchen, with fitted appliances and a round table that was just about big enough for two to sit round with a pizza box.

And the bedroom.

Leaning back against the pillows, he smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, listening to the sound of running water and thinking about the evening that he had dreamt up on the plane, the evening that he had planned for them to have last night. Unpacking, dinner out, hours of talking and touching and kissing...well, it had sounded nice, but he should have known that it was wildly optimistic. After three weeks apart, they had not been able to keep their hands off each other. But, as Ziva had pointed out in the hallway, there would be plenty more evenings for talking and meals out. And after she had demonstrated exactly what she wanted to do instead, he had agreed with her.

'Your turn'.

He opened his eyes again to see her leaning against the bathroom door, smiling at him. The towel that was wrapped around her body left little to the imagination, and the droplets of water that were still on her tanned skin glistened in the afternoon light that was creeping in around the blinds. Caught for a moment, he could only look at her in wonder, suddenly amazed that someone like her could have chosen someone like him. Amazed at how exciting he found her, and yet how comfortable at the same time. And amazed at how, despite spending more time apart than together, they had instantly slipped into a sexy, relaxed way of just being with each other that made him forget that he was five thousand miles away from home.

It made him feel like he was home.

Her smile widened as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stepped over to her. His arousal after watching her in the shower was obvious, and as he lowered his mouth to hers, he felt her hips nudge gently against him, teasing him again as she responded to his kiss.

'We are really going to be late'.

'Umm-hmm'.

He murmured his reply as he pulled back from her lips and kissed his way down her jaw, his hands hovering at the top of the towel as she arched further towards him.

'Need to stop at yours for anything?'

The only immediate answer he got to his question was a quiet gasp as he lowered his mouth still further and kissed his way along the top of the towel where his hands had just been, but he sensed her shaking her head.

'No, I...I brought some things over here the other day. When I came to check on the house'.

He smiled against her skin. He didn't let on that he had already looked in the closet and seen the small pile of clean clothes and toiletries that Ziva had left there, precisely so that she would not have to go back to her own apartment for anything.

'Really?' He let his hand wander down to her hip, and felt a surge of heat rush through him when she moaned softly at the touch.

'I thought it best to, uh...be prepared'.

'Girl guide?'

'Army cadets'.

That figured.

'And it is just as well'. He felt her hand over his, firmly taking it off her waist, and he reluctantly lifted his lips from the top of her breast as she made a visible effort to pull herself together. 'Since we have managed to stay in bed all morning and we now have exactly forty minutes to get there'.

'Okay, okay'. He chuckled and moved around her towards the bathroom. She was right. Although he wasn't officially starting work for another couple of days, they had arranged to call into the Mossad offices where the new team - their new team - was based, in order for him to meet the other members and get his bearings a bit. He would also need to sort out some paperwork and pick up his ID cards, and it really wouldn't look good if they were late.

But, he thought wryly as he switched the shower back on, tardiness was not likely to be an issue.

Not with Ziva driving.

* * *

Thirty five minutes later, his assessment proved correct when Ziva pulled up at the side of a busy street in central Tel Aviv, and indicated left to turn into an underground car park entrance. Pulling an ID card out of her jacket pocket, she swiped it at the barrier to gain access before swinging hard right and round into an empty space.

'I will get you one of these today as well, for car parking access'.

'No need'.

Gibbs had no intention of ever driving anywhere in Israel if he could help it. He honestly wasn't sure what was worse - Ziva's driving or the driving of everyone else on the road - and he didn't think he had ever seen so many red lights jumped, corners cut and pedestrian crossings ignored. Not to mention the horns. The taxi drivers in particular seemed to lean on them constantly.

'What do they do if the horn doesn't work?''

She laughed as she switched off the engine.

'Get it fixed. It is as important as the brakes'.

He got out of the car with her, wondering where exactly they were going. There had not been anywhere outside that looked like it might belong to Mossad, although there had been a few anonymous office blocks in amongst the cafes and shops. Ziva led him out of the car park and back over the street, dodging the traffic, to the middle one in a group of high-rise buildings with one way glass in the windows.

'We like to keep a low profile'.

Gibbs just nodded. His Hebrew still wasn't great, but even he had been able to tell that the shiny plaque outside the block that they were entering did not say 'Mossad', and Ziva answered his unspoken question.

'Life assurance'.

Nice.

She waited until they were inside before she spoke again.

'Mossad has all three of the office blocks on this side of the street, this one and the ones either side'. She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. 'The one on the right is the Office of the Prime Minister - our parent agency. The one on the left is a law firm'.

'Right'.

Gibbs supposed that he should have expected something like this. It was a not-so-secret secret that Mossad had their headquarters in the middle of the city, although the exact address was the subject of much speculation and rumour, and it was logical that security would be their first consideration. He didn't think that, even in Israel, there would be many other life assurance companies that had quite so many armed guards and security scanners just inside the entrance. The set-up was very different to NCIS.

Just how different soon became apparent when he had to navigate the hurdles of human resources, paperwork and ID cards. He remembered when he had first joined NCIS, and he had spent an entire afternoon down in the bowels of the building, signing one bit of meaningless paper after another and taking three goes to get his ID card photo right. Maybe it was because he was a liaison rather than a new agent - but everything was waiting for him, ready for him to collect and sign for. He was done in less than half an hour.

'Nice photo'. Ziva smirked as she caught sight of his ID card. 'So. Coffee or...down to business?'

'Business'.

'Good answer. The coffee is disgusting. I usually go out, there is a very good cafe just around the corner'.

Gibbs smiled as she led him towards the elevator. Even though she was trying not to show it too much, he could tell that she was proud to have him there. The promotion to joint team leader for the new counter-terrorism unit had meant a lot to her, much more than it had him. He had also known - and appreciated - the fact that she had a great deal of respect for him as an agent, just as he did her. Now, he realised for the first time just how glad she was, on a professional level, that he had chosen to work alongside her.

He just had one question.

'The other agents. They know about us?'

Ziva nudged him off the elevator before answering.

'They know. You will find that gossip travels fast'. She smiled up at him briefly. 'But they also know that we will keep it professional'.

He nodded. That was fine. He hadn't really expected anything different.

'In here'.

Ziva pushed open a door at the end of the third-floor corridor, and Gibbs stepped in after her. As far as he was concerned, the mere fact that they had not been relegated to the basement was a good start, considering that the team was new, very small, and essentially on probation. And, as he looked around him, he saw that the office was even a decent size. Five desks, a printer station, several filing cabinets and something that looked suspiciously like a mini-fridge all fitted in comfortably with room to spare. A single computer sat on each desk, and he noted the silver apple motif on the back of the monitors. He had not used a Mac before.

Something else to get used to.

'Shalom. You must be Agent Gibbs'.

Gibbs took the outstretched hand and nodded, taking in the tall, dark agent in front of him. The accent was not too heavy, the grip firm, the face open in a friendly, confident smile. A good looking man - and aware of the fact.

'Gibbs, this is Officer Malachai Ben-Gidon'.

So it was Gibbs at work, Jethro at home. It made the distinction easy, at least.

'And Officer Binyamin Azar'.

A shorter man stood up and reached over from behind the nearest desk to shake Gibbs's hand. He looked younger than Malachai and was stockier, with a completely bald head and startlingly blue eyes.

'Ben'. He grinned at Gibbs. 'Binyamin is too much of a mouthful. Even my mother struggles when she's trying to get it out in a temper'.

Gibbs returned the smile, wondering as he did so where Ben had learnt his English. His accent was barely noticeable.

Ziva seemed to read his mind.

'Ben went to university in America'.

The officer nodded, slightly shyly.

'MIT'.

'So anything to do with that...' Malachai indicated the computer on the nearest desk. 'He deals with it'.

'We have been setting up the systems and databases we will be using - or rather, Ben has'. Ziva corrected herself. 'Malachai and I have been watching and supposedly learning. But you have not missed very much'.

'And the reason you haven't missed very much is because the tech people still have not got their act together to get us connected to the intranet'. Ben looked frustrated. 'Everything external is set up. But none of us can even access internal email from here yet'.

'I will get onto them'.

Gibbs watched as Ben took Ziva through something, some minor change that he had made that day, and he couldn't help feeling a twinge of admiration. Underneath the atmosphere of friendly banter between the three agents, he could tell that the two men had a good deal of respect for Ziva, both as a fellow agent and as their new team leader. It was a good way to start off, and he was impressed with her immediate authority. He was, however, suddenly very aware of the change in his own position. He had been a team leader in his own right for several years. Now, on paper, he was sharing that command with Ziva. In practice, he knew that he would probably be deferring to her on several things until he fully found his feet in a new country and a new working arena.

That might take some getting used to.

'Ben and I were thinking of going for a drink tomorrow if you would like to come along?'

Malachai addressed the question to Gibbs, but with one eye on Ziva, and it was her that answered first.

'How about tonight? Other plans tomorrow'.

His attention drawn away from his own thoughts, Gibbs raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked at Ziva. Tomorrow was Friday. Shabbat. And it was the first he had heard of any plans, but Malachai just nodded.

'Sure'.

After a few minutes, Malachai and Ben became engaged in a somewhat heated discussion about the finer points of the fingerprint database, and Ziva rolled her eyes in amusement as she beckoned Gibbs over to the desk that would be his. He took the opportunity to speak quietly, for her ears alone.

'That just an excuse to get me to yourself?'

Ziva smiled.

'Unfortunately not'. She looked a bit sheepish as she turned to him. 'I was trying to get out of it - that is why I did not tell you. But it seems I did not say no quickly enough'.

'Say no to what?'

'Shabbat dinner'.

She gave him an apologetic look.

'With my mother'.


	3. Chapter 3

_Tel Aviv /Herzliya. 9 November 2002_

'Anything I should know?'

Gibbs asked the question just as a motorbike cut in front of Ziva and, instead of replying, she swore loudly and let out an angry blast on the horn.

'Idiot!'

He didn't think it was a good idea to point out that she had done exactly the same thing just a few minutes before, and waited until she had turned onto the highway out of the city before he asked again.

'Anything you wanna tell me before we get there?'

She looked over at him, smiling.

'She does not bite, if that's what you mean'.

'It wasn't'.

'Yes, it was. But I promise you do not need to worry'.

'I'm not'. He paused. 'Eli gonna be there?'

Ziva snorted.

'I very much doubt it. He has not made it home on time for dinner in over ten years. I do not think he will start now - even for you'.

'Hmm'.

Maybe, he reflected, it was just as well. The few dealings that he had so far had with Ziva's father - who also happened to be the Deputy Director of Mossad - had left him uncertain as to what he thought. On the one hand, the way that the man seemed to consistently place work above family did not sit well with Gibbs. He had gathered from Ziva that Eli's attitude had put considerable strain on his marriage as well as on his relationship with his children, and that attitude was not one that Gibbs could easily understand. On the other hand, he knew that the pressures of Eli's work had to be considerable, especially in a country where security was so dangerously fragile.

And, to be fair, he didn't really know the man well enough to judge him.

He thought he could probably foster a decent enough working relationship with Eli David. But dinner...well, that might have been stretching it a bit far. For now, at least.

Zva continued talking, breaking his train of thought.

'And I am sorry, but she threatened to bring dinner to us if we did not go'.

Gibbs chuckled. He wasn't really worried about meeting Ziva's mother - in fact, Ziva seemed more concerned about it than he was. Perhaps she knew something he didn't. But he was hardly a tongue-tied teenager anymore, and meeting the parents wasn't exactly a new experience. And he had to admit he was curious. Ziva had not spoken of her mother much but, when she had, he had got the impression that Rivka David was a formidable character.

He was almost looking forward to it.

They were heading out of the city, north on Highway 2 towards Herzliya, and the traffic was still quite heavy. Rather than watching the tail lights of the cars in front getting heart-stoppingly close before Ziva pulled out to overtake, Gibbs turned to look out of the passenger window at the glow of the city outskirts. It was just past six in the evening, but darkness seemed to come quickly here, with none of the prolonged sunsets and dusks that he was used to. It had taken him by surprise the previous day, when it had been full daylight as they had prepared to leave the office. Half an hour later, the sun had already fallen behind the buildings and into the sea.

They had ended up going for a drink in a small bar near the Mossad headquarters with Malachai and Ben, and, although socialising with colleagues was not usually his strong point, it had been a good opportunity to get to know his new team a bit better. Watching, listening, and occasionally joining in with the talk and the banter had, he thought, given him a pretty accurate first impression. And, based on that, he didn't think he could have asked for much more. He had found himself liking both Malachai and Ben; although they were very different, both in their styles of working and in their professional strengths, they were complementary to each other and he thought that they would work together well. They had both been friendly enough without being over the top. And, most importantly, they both had a good attitude. He had no worries about being in the field with either of them.

There was just one thing that had been niggling at him, but since Ziva had been working all day while he unpacked, he had not had a chance to broach the subject.

'You and Malachai'.

He closed his eyes briefly as Ziva pressed her foot on the accelerator to overtake a goods truck. Thank God, he thought, that he didn't get car-sick.

'Malachai?'

Her brow wrinkled before she realised what he was talking about.

'Oh. No. Well, not really'.

'Not really?'

'Once. It was nothing'.

Gibbs had guessed as much. He had seen Malachai's record, and knew that Ziva had chosen him for no other reason than that he was a very good agent. He did wonder, however, whether Malachai thought of it as 'nothing'. Something in the other man's eyes yesterday evening had made him suspect not.

'And he's ok with this?'

'Of course'.

'Hmm'.

Gibbs hoped she was right...but he decided not to worry about it unless Malachai gave him cause to.

There was just one more thing he wanted to clarify.

'Who's the other one?'

'What, the other team member?'

Gibbs nodded, even though, for once, Ziva was looking at the road and not him. A fifth desk had been set up in the office, and he doubted that it had been put there for show.

'That is for you to decide'. She smiled briefly at him before flicking on her indicator to turn off the highway. 'If you stay, that is. Maybe someone else from NCIS'.

'If?'

'You do not have to stay if it does not work out'. Her tone was teasing, but he knew she was serious. 'You do have a choice'.

He didn't reply, but watched her as she drove through the suburbs of Herzliya, finally turning into a residential street and pulling up outside a detached house that was set back from the road. Switching off the engine, she turned to him and took a deep breath.

'So we are here'.

He nodded and, sensing that she was far more nervous about this than he was, leaned over and gave her a warm, reassuring kiss.

Something told him that, where Ziva was concerned, he was already too far gone to have a choice at all.

* * *

It was past midnight by the time Gibbs found himself, once again, looking out of the car window at the city lights flashing past, his hand reaching over to rest on Ziva's knee. The traffic was light now, and he smiled at the window as he felt her fingers gently entwine with his on her lap. It meant that she was driving one-handed, but he suspected that she did that half the time anyway.

'So'. Ziva glanced over at him. 'How bad was it?'

'Not bad'. He turned his smile from the window onto her.

'Not bad?'

'Pretty good'.

'Hmmm'.

Ziva sounded disbelieving, but there was a smirk of satisfaction on her face as she turned back onto the highway that would take them to Tel Aviv.

'I did tell you that she did not bite'.

'Yeah. You did'. Gibbs squeezed her hand, but hesitated for a moment before continuing. 'Coulda warned me about Ari and Aisha, though'.

Ziva chuckled quietly, and inclined her head in acknowledgement.

'I did not know for sure that they would be there tonight'.

'Yeah, you did'.

She looked over at him, a thoughtful expression on her face, before turning her attention back to the road just in time to overtake a silver Audi that was crawling along in the inside lane.

'Remind me of that in future'.

'What?'

'That I cannot lie to you. You catch even the little white ones'.

'Good to know'.

As he waited for her to elaborate - or not - he reflected on just how like her mother she was. For some reason, he had always assumed that she took after Eli, and that her strength of character, her occasionally fierce temper and her drive, her determination, all came from him. Now, he realised, she had got them not just from Eli, but also from Rivka.

He had not known what to expect. He had been surprised, firstly, at how tall she was, slightly taller even than Ziva, and at how athletic she still looked at the age of sixty. Her hair, cut short into a stylish bob, was now streaked liberally with grey, but he guessed that it had once been the same lustrous brown as Ziva's. And the dark eyes and the enticing smile were almost identical.

What had really struck him, however, was her personality. In the six hours that he had just spent in her company, he had discovered a forceful, strong character with a sharp tongue and a wicked sense of humour. Not so very different from Eli, whom Gibbs suspected could be the life and soul of the party if he chose to be. But he had also sensed a deep compassion in Rivka, the kind that could only come from a life that had seen pain, and loss, and hardship first hand. He had not yet seen that in Eli.

In a way, it broke his heart that he could see it in Ziva too.

Rivka had welcomed him warmly and, without seeming to try too hard, had made him feel at home. So much so that he had not felt awkward when she had walked back into the dining room after the meal, and seen him looking at a framed photograph that could only have been of Ziva's younger sister.

_'She is not a taboo subject, Jethro'. A light touch on his arm, a knowing smile. 'You can ask'. _

_'Ziva told me'. _

_A slow nod, as Rivka looked contemplatively at the photo. _

_'You must have seen death a lot in your job. Like Eli and Ziva'. _

He had not known what to say to that, so in the end he had just nodded.

_'So you must realise that sometimes it is the one thing we cannot protect our loved ones from, no matter how hard we try'. _

He had immediately recognised that comment for what it was. It was not a defensive remark from a mother who felt like she had failed to protect her youngest daughter from a suicide bomber. It was a veiled reminder of what he was getting himself into. Of the fact that he would not be able to protect Ziva no matter how much he wanted to. And of the fact that he was now essentially living in a war zone, and that he would not necessarily be able to protect anyone else either.

For someone who didn't take to others particularly easily, Gibbs had decided very quickly that he respected Rivka, on a far deeper level than just that of ordinary politeness. Instinctively, he trusted her. And, after an evening in which he had laughed and talked more than he had done in a long time, he decided that he liked her.

The only sightly awkward moment in the evening had, fortunately, been over and done with quickly. Rivka had left them in order to go and get some drinks, and Ziva had led him through the hallway and into the living room. He had watched, slightly puzzled, as her face broke into a wide smile. The dark haired man who was sat on the sofa stood up and hugged her tightly, his own face creasing into laughter as he released her and saw the happy look on her face. Still with one arm around him, she had turned to Gibbs.

_'Jethro, this is Ari. My brother'. _

Gibbs had been quite proud of himself. As far as he was aware, none of his shock or surprise had made it as far as his face.

_'Half brother'. A quick correction from Ari. _

But the twinkle that Gibbs had seen in his eyes, and the indulgent expression on his face as he looked at Ziva, suggested that while the 'half' might have been technically correct, it was generally ignored.

_'Details'. An airy dismissal. 'Is Aisha here?'_

Aisha, it had turned out, was Ari's wife. Petite and dark, very quiet, but with a slightly musical voice and a bubbling laugh that, when she allowed it to escape, seemed to infect everyone else as well. Gibbs had guessed that Ari was around thirty five, but Aisha was younger - probably, he had thought, just a couple of years older than Ziva. Over dinner, he had learnt that they were both doctors at the Hadassah hospital in Jerusalem, and that Ari specialised in emergency medicine while Aisha was still training, working on her surgical rotation. But living and working in Jerusalem, hectic work schedules and the pressures of the ongoing conflict meant that they didn't make it over to Tel Aviv nearly as often as they wanted to.

_'It is like a different world'. This from Ari. 'When you are settled, you must come and visit us sometime'. _

When Gibbs had said that he would like that, he had found that he meant it.

Now, though, settled in the car and with the quiet space to think, he couldn't help wondering whose child Ari was. Eli's, or Rivka's? The physical similarity to either of them ended with his height and his dark hair, and he was just about to ask when Ziva spoke again.

She had obviously decided to elaborate.

'I did not deliberately not tell you about Ari'.

He looked over at her. She was looking straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel and the other still held in his on her knee.

'I just did not think you would be meeting him so soon. And it is a...well. A slightly complicated situation'.

'All families have them'.

She smiled.

'Ari is my father's son'.

So that answered one question.

'With an Arab woman. He had an affair while he was undercover, not long after he had married my mother. She was from Gaza. I do not know if she is still alive, but she decided that she did not want her child growing up in a refugee camp. She asked my father to take him when he was born, and my mother agreed since they thought that she could not have children of her own. At least, that is what we were always told'.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes slightly.

'You don't believe it?'

She shrugged, and slipped her hand out from underneath his in order to put her indicator on. They were coming into Tel Aviv.

'I have no reason not to, really. And she loves Ari like he is her own'.

So it was her father that she wasn't sure about. Did she think that perhaps Ari's birth mother had not wanted to give him up in the first place?

But when she moved on, he didn't press the issue.

'Ari is ten years older than me. We were always close, he loved playing the protective older brother'.

Gibbs smiled. He wondered whether little Ziva had liked that as much as Ari. Deep down, he thought, she probably had.

'He's not involved with Mossad?'

'Yes and no'. Ziva paused. 'He does not officially work for us. But...he works in the emergency room at Hadassah. It is used by both Israelis and Palestinians from the West Bank and East Jerusalem. And people do not seem to watch what they say in that kind of environment perhaps quite as well as they should do'.

'You mean he's an informant'.

'Occasionally, he hears things, which he passes on to me'. She shot Gibbs an ironic smile. 'It's the only time we ever get to see each other any more, just the two of us'.

He nodded. Ironic indeed.

'And Aisha is an Arab-Israeli. She is an Israeli citizen, but most of her family still live in Gaza and getting permits to cross the border is all but impossible at the moment. It's hard for her. She and Ari have only been married two years...it was the year after Tali died'.

Evidently, Gibbs thought, he had been wrong. Not all families had situations as complicated as that.

'She know he works for you?'

'He does not...' Ziva paused, before deciding not to argue the point that Ari didn't technically work for Mossad. 'No. And that was Ari's decision. Aisha is clean. But he did not want to burden her with that'.

Aisha is clean...Of course.

It would be embarrassing, to say the least, if the Deputy Director of Mossad's daughter in law turned out to have ties to terrorists.

'Have I had the background check yet?'

Ziva glanced over at him, a small smile on her face.

'No need. NCIS had already done the job for him'. She paused. 'So, have I put you off at all?'

He couldn't help chuckling. It was certainly a lot to take in. But for someone as special as Ziva...it would take more than that to put him off.

'Why'd you think that?'

'You have moved to one of the most troubled countries in the world, and become involved with possibly one of the most...how do you say it? Ballsed up?'

His chuckle became a full-on laugh.

'Screwed up?'

'Yes!' She sounded triumphant. 'With one of the most screwed up families you could find. Are you not having second thoughts yet?'

Gibbs was still laughing, but he didn't hesitate with his reply.

'No'. He reached over and ran his fingers quickly, lightly through her hair.

'Not sure I ever will'.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for all the reviews / PMs / follows from the last chapter! This one comes with a big shout out / hug / thank you to Zivacentric for too many reasons to list, but especially for all her recent encouragement, enthusiasm and general handholding over this story :). _

_Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

_Tel Aviv. 15th November 2002_

Gibbs looked up from his computer as the door to the office opened and Ben walked in, a cardboard drinks carrier balanced precariously in one hand and a bulging paper bag in the other. Evidently the rain that had started overnight had not eased off yet - his jacket was wet, and parts of the paper bag looked soggy enough to be on the verge of splitting. Kicking the door shut with his foot, he dumped the lunch down on the nearest desk before the paper disintegrated completely and, ignoring the trail of drips that he was leaving across the carpeted floor, shrugged out of his jacket and delved into the bag. Like benign vultures, the other three agents immediately left their desks and gathered round. It was now past one, and the first stomach had begun rumbling over an hour ago.

'Four falafels'. He sounded triumphant as he handed the first package to Gibbs. 'Plain, no fries, black coffee'.

'Thanks'. Gibbs accepted the large, slightly greasy package, along with the coffee. He was starting to like the lunch staple of falafel, hummus and salad stuffed into an over-sized pitta bread, but he still wasn't convinced about the spicy pickles that usually went with it.

'Extra fries and extra pickles with mint tea...'

'Mine'. Ziva took it from him, and wasted no time in heading back to her desk and getting stuck in.

'And extra zhoug, no hummus and no tomato'. Ben grimaced as he handed this last one to Malachai. 'You know how grumpy they get when I ask them for no tomato and no hummus?'

'That is why I only get falafel when it's your turn to buy'.

'Hmm'. Ben huffed as he took his own lunch back to his desk. 'How can you have falafel with no hummus?'

Gibbs smirked as he caught Ziva rolling her eyes. Ben and Malachai liked to wind each other up, and argued like an old married couple. It was playful, lighthearted - nothing serious - and he knew that it didn't really get on Ziva's nerves. She was just glad, like he was, that the two agents got on well enough to be able to do that without any hard feelings afterwards.

He watched her as she ate, her sandwich in one hand and her computer mouse in the other. Their first full week had been a busy one. Nothing specific had come in for them to deal with, but just getting started had taken up a lot of time - liaising with other counter-terrorism and law-enforcement agencies, getting up to speed with current intelligence, figuring out what they were likely to need and what they weren't. It had meant some long days. And although he had not yet seen Eli David outside of the office - which was just fine for the moment - he and Ziva had been called for a meeting with the Deputy Director, in which their exact remit had been laid out and their position within Mossad clarified.

_'Any terrorist threats that concern either the Israeli or the US navy, anywhere in the world - you will deal with them'. A pause. 'That includes threats from terrorists within Israel, and attacks within Israeli waters or against naval personnel on Israeli soil. Your security clearances will allow you full access to the intelligence desks, and if something comes in that they - or I - deem relevant, it will be passed to you'._

Gibbs knew that Mossad generally did not operate within Israeli borders, and he had been surprised to learn just how much power they were actually being given. He suspected that it had not been easy to negotiate with the internal Israeli agencies, a suspicion that had been confirmed after the meeting by Ziva.

_'Shin Bet did not like it. I think some ropes were pulled'._

_'Strings'._

_'Strings, then. Either way. We will probably have to work with them at some point, but hopefully not too often. And obviously they still deal with everything that is not navy-related'._

The joys of inter-agency co-operation.

That aside, everything had gone remarkably smoothly. He had known, deep down, that he and Ziva would make a very good team - it was why they had been picked for this unit in the first place. Something had just clicked. And Gibbs found that he enjoyed working with her. So far, at least.

He smiled as she licked her fingers clean of pickles, and had to resist the urge to go over and kiss the tiny bit of zhoug from the corner of her mouth. Since he had arrived in Israel just over a week ago, they had spent every night together, usually at his apartment but once or twice at hers, and he had still found himself missing her on those rare occasions when they were not together during the day at work. The idea of taking things more slowly, and of leaving some space in between working together and sleeping together, had been discussed, but quickly dismissed when it turned out that neither of them wanted it. Already, Gibbs couldn't imagine being anywhere other than here, with her. DC seemed like a distant memory.

And, regardless of the logical part of his brain telling him to be careful, he had never known anything that felt so completely right.

'Gibbs?'

He was halfway through a mouthful of falafel when Ziva quietly called him over to her desk. Ben and Malachai, now busy arguing over whether hummus was best with whole chickpeas mixed in, took no notice as he pushed back his chair, sandwich still in hand, and walked over to stand behind her. She suddenly looked on edge and slightly excited and, as he peered over her shoulder, he sensed that their busy week was about to turn into a busy weekend.

Despite that, he couldn't resist dropping his lips quickly to the corner of her mouth, and smiled at her surprised look.

'Pickle'.

'Oh'. She returned his smile briefly before pointing at the screen. An anonymous email. Not much there, but enough to make Gibbs narrow his eyes and lean forward to read it properly, all thoughts of pickles and falafel forgotten. Ziva watched him, waiting until he had finished reading, gauging his reaction.

'I think this is worth looking into'.

'Yeah'. Gibbs nodded slowly. 'Think you're right'.

* * *

'Operation Juniper Cobra'.

Ziva pointed at the plasma screen that had been set up in the corner of the room as she perched on the edge of Malachai's desk. In the two hours since the anonymous email had come through, the office had been buzzing with a mixture of excitement and calm, professional activity. That email was now up on the screen for all the agents to see, alongside various screenshots of official documents that constituted the background research that they had been able to do.

If it came to anything, the tip-off would mean a pretty big first case.

'The bi-annual missile defence operation that is conducted jointly between the Israeli and US military, due to next take place in February 2003. Three months from now. And, if that is to be believed...' Ziva moved her finger to point at the email. 'We have terrorists planning an attack already'.

Gibbs knew about Juniper Cobra - NCIS had been involved in risk assessments the first time it had taken place. He also remembered that there had been rumours of some scepticism and surprise within the higher ranks of the US Navy since, despite the close ties between the two countries on many things, it was unusual for the US and Israel to co-operate so closely in military terms. But that was now beside the point.

'Juniper Cobra involves all arms of the military'. Ziva continued talking, and Gibbs noticed that both Malachai and Ben were concentrating on the screen as she spoke, tying in what they were hearing with what they were seeing. 'It consists of live fire exercises in response to a simulated Scud attack on the Dimona nuclear reactor in the Negev. Our concern would be the involvement of AEGIS ships from both navies, based in the Mediterranean and in the Red Sea'.

'You think they would target the ships as well as the land troops?'

Ziva looked at Malachai as she replied.

'We have to assume that, yes'.

'So who's got the lead?' Gibbs was assuming that, since the threat was not solely against the navy, this was one of those occasions when they would have to be working with Shin Bet or the military police, but Ziva shook her head and, with a click of a button, brought another email up on the plasma. This one, Gibbs saw, was from Eli, and had also been sent to him within the last twenty minutes.

'We have sole jurisdiction on this for the moment. The tip specifically mentions Hamas working from inside the Gaza Strip and Egypt, which could constitute an external threat and so would fall within Mossad's remit anyway. And the tip just came to us. Obviously we will keep others informed if we need to, but the investigation is ours'.

Gibbs nodded slowly, noting that she was not meeting his eyes. It was a pretty tenuous argument, considering that half the exercises would not involve the navy at all, and Ziva's words implied that no other agency even knew about a potential threat yet. But Eli, for all his faults, did not seem like the type to get territorial for the sake of it. He suspected that there was another reason, and, as Ben took over from Ziva, it gradually dawned on him what that reason might be.

He just hoped he was wrong.

'Whoever it was knew what they were doing. It was sent from an anonymous email account which now doesn't exist, and the message was bounced through several different IP addresses in various different countries - Jordan, Turkey, France, the UK...'

'But you got something?' Malachai sounded slightly impatient, and Ben nodded as his fingers flew over his keyboard.

'Sort of. There we go'. A long list of numbers flashed up on the plasma. 'These are the addresses I traced. This one comes back to an internet cafe in Jerusalem. The Central Bus Station one...but I can't tell if that's where the message originated'.

Zva checked her watch.

'The email came approximately two hours ago...lunchtime on a Thursday, the place will have been packed'.

'Still worth a look over'. Malachai stood up. 'You want me and Ben to go?'

Ziva looked as if she was going to argue, but Gibbs nodded. He was team leader here as well.

'Yep'. A thought suddenly struck him as Malachai grabbed his jacket. 'The email came in English. They have dual keyboards in that cafe?'

'Not sure'. Ben looked impressed. 'If not, whoever it was would have either had to ask for one or use a translation program, which would have cost extra. If the guy was there'.

'Then let's go and find out'. Malachai sounded eager to be off, but shook his head as Ben grabbed his car keys. 'No way. We won't get there until tomorrow if you drive'.

Gibbs waited until the sounds of their bickering had receded down the corridor and into the elevator before turning to Ziva.

'Something you wanna tell me?'

She took a deep breath.

'It looks like you have worked it out anyway'.

'That the tip came from Ari? Yeah, I figured that'. He was trying not to sound pissed off. But something like this...he would have preferred not to have to guess. 'You were gonna tell me?'

'Of course'. Ziva caught his cynical expression. 'Honestly. But those two...they have no idea Ari even exists. I would prefer to keep it that way. He risks his life doing this, Jethro. I have to protect him'.

Gibbs sighed, and ran a hand over his face. He had a nasty feeling that personal and professional lines were about to be blurred beyond recognition, and that it wouldn't just involve himself and Ziva.

'So that's why we've got this investigation?'

Ziva nodded.

'If other agencies became involved they would, quite rightly, want to know where the intel came from. And I am not prepared to tell them. My father knows what Ari does. Normally it is not a problem to pass on information without a source, but on something as big as this...I - we - did not think it was worth the risk'.

It looked as if several emails had been bouncing back and forth without his knowledge.

'Joint lead, Ziva. You should have asked me'.

'I am sorry. But I would have told you'.

He looked at her for a moment, and decided not to push it. For now.

'So you think there's something in it?'

Ziva looked relieved that he had moved on, and nodded.

'He has always been right before'.

'Pretty good track record', Gibbs murmured, but held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he saw Ziva's face. He really didn't want an argument. 'Ok. So are they gonna find anything at that cafe?'

'I do not think so'. There was a twinkle in Ziva's eyes, despite the slight tension between them. 'That is why I was not going to send them over there. Ari usually sends the emails from a bus - he can pick up the WiFi signal from the cafe. He just uses his laptop as the bus is either pulling into or out of the station'.

'And he knows how to...do whatever it is Ben said?'

'Route it through the different addresses? Yes'. Ziva paused. 'He has to, Jethro. One day you will see what can happen to informers who are careless, who get caught'.

'I know'. He had seen it before, but Ziva shook her head.

'No. Not long after I had joined Mossad, one of the other agents was worried about a confidential informer, he said the guy was becoming careless. Arrogant. A week after we had that conversation, the informer's head arrived at the office. By FedEx'.

Gibbs grimaced.

'I do not want that happening to Ari'.

'I know'. He reached out and slipped his arms around her. He was still slightly annoyed but, as she relaxed into him, he realised that he could understand it. And, as long as they concentrated on the tip and not the tipster, he didn't think that it would complicate the investigation too much.

Ziva would do anything to protect Ari. And Gibbs knew that he would do anything to protect her.


	5. Chapter 5

_A shorter one here - a bit of a 'filler' type chapter, but it is necessary (both for the story, and for my muse while it's being hijacked by other things)! Enjoy x_

* * *

_Tel Aviv, 22 November 2002_

One week on, and all they had was three names.

Those three names had been given faces, identities, lives beyond the walls of the Mossad office where they currently occupied an entire noticeboard plus the plasma screen. Bashir al-Tijani, aged thirty three, married with three children, living in Ramallah. Faruq Alhasan, aged nineteen, unmarried, living with his parents in Jenin. And Khalid Latif, aged twenty, newly married and also living in Ramallah. The team knew where each man worked. They knew their friends, and their enemies. They knew their daily routines. They knew that all three had contact with known members of Hamas in the Gaza Strip. Ben had only half-jokingly remarked that, if one of the men farted, they would know about it.

Electronic surveillance was a remarkable thing.

But none of that had moved them any further on. Either the three men were not involved in any planned attack on the Juniper Cobra exercise, or they were being remarkably careful.

The heads-up had come from the intelligence desk four days earlier. The three men had been placed under surveillance a while ago, but an uptake in chatter, along with a mention of the US navy in an email sent from Alhasan to Latif, had ensured that the names were immediately passed on to Gibbs and Ziva's team. The surveillance had been increased, and, much to Ziva's relief, the focus of the agents no longer kept coming around to who had sent the tip in the first place.

Gibbs still wasn't sure how he felt about Ari's involvement - limited though that involvement was, his gut was telling him that something wasn't quite right. But Ziva seemed to trust her brother implicitly and, for the moment, that was enough for him. He trusted Ziva's judgment. Besides, he hadn't had time to really worry about it anyway. All four of them had been working almost around the clock to find something, anything, to tie the Palestinians directly to a planned attack.

But they had come up blank.

The frustration at the lack of progress was beginning to show with all of them. Malachai and Ben were no longer indulging in the friendly banter that had kept Gibbs amused the first week he had been there, and were now sniping rather than teasing. Ziva was getting progressively more irritable and tired, both at home and at work. And Gibbs was finding it increasingly hard having to work from the office when he was used to being out in the field.

Here, they could not just go and interview the suspects. They could not quiz the families and friends for information, or get warrants to search houses and places of work for forensic evidence. They could not go out and chase down elusive leads until something turned up. Instead, they had to play a waiting game, watching al-Tijani, Latif and Alhasan without them realising, without spooking them, hoping that soon one of them would let something slip. After all, mentioning the navy in an email was hardly an offence, even under the all-encompassing terror laws. And an attack on the scale that they were talking about could not be planned and executed by three men, however determined. Others had to be involved, and they needed those three men to tell them who they were.

But even Ben was now running out of patience.

'Maybe there isn't anything in this at all'.

'There is'. Ziva did not look up from her computer screen. 'We just have not found it yet'.

'That would be a really good start'. Malachai grimaced as he swivelled his chair round and stretched out his legs. 'AEGIS ships get blown up under our watch - hey!'

Ben had thrown a screwed up ball of paper at his colleague, hitting him square on the forehead, and Gibbs could tell that Ziva was itching to do the same. That, he thought, was one of the downsides of being a team leader. You were expected to be slightly more restrained in expressing your feelings.

'Hopefully that's not gonna happen'. He spoke quietly, but it was enough to stop the paper fight before it had really begun and for a few blissful minutes, no one spoke.

'We have fuck all'.

The silence was broken by Malachai and, although he would probably have phrased it slightly differently, Gibbs had to agree with him. Looking around the room, he made a snap decision. It was eight thirty on a Thursday evening, and the weekend should have already started. They certainly weren't accomplishing anything here.

'Call it a night'.

Three faces looked over at him in surprise.

'We're not getting anywhere. Intelligence'll call me or Ziva if they hear something'.

It amused him that both Malachai and Ben looked over at Ziva for confirmation before gathering their gear and, for a moment, she looked as if she might insist that they all stay - she hated being forced into inactivity. But finally she nodded.

'Gibbs is right. There is nothing more we can get done here tonight'.

The two agents wasted no time in heading out of the office, waved hands taking the place of proper goodbyes and wishes for a good evening. Gibbs knew that Malachai would be home, showered, and back out into the bars within the space of an hour, while Ben would go home and have dinner with his girlfriend before a film and a relatively early night. It was amazing how much you could learn about other people in such a short space of time.

He looked over at Ziva who was now leaning back in her chair, rolling her shoulders and stretching her neck from side to side, but making no move to pack up and leave. It had been a long day - no, make that a long week - in front of screens and hunched over paperwork, and he was starting to feel it with twinges in his back. Standing up with a slight grimace, he walked over to stand behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders.

''Call it a night' meant you too'.

She leaned her head against him, tipping right back so that she could see his face above hers. Her brown eyes were tired, but still held a sparkle as she looked up at him.

'Hmm. And you?'

'Umm-hmm. Home?'

When he said 'home', he wasn't necessarily referring to his own apartment. They had been spending more and more time this past week at Ziva's, and it felt just as natural to be there as in Florentine. Besides, he was beginning to feel like home wasn't the four walls anyway. As long as he was with Ziva, that was fine.

That was home.

'No'. Ziva shook her head, looking thoughtful. 'I do not think I could settle at home just yet'.

'Pizza?'

She looked tempted, but once again shook her head.

'I think...' She paused before straightening her neck and standing up, suddenly decisive. 'I think I will go for a run'.

Gibbs shrugged as he stepped back to allow her to grab her bag. Going for pizza alone didn't seem nearly as appealing as going for pizza with Ziva, so he heard himself asking a question that he was already convinced he would regret.

'Want some company?'

* * *

'Are you ok?'

Gibbs had slowed from a run to a walk, his hand resting on his side as a stitch began to prickle. Hell, he thought, he hadn't done so badly. They had been going for forty minutes and were now somewhere along the seafront, which was still busy despite it being dark and late in the evening. The breeze coming off the water was a welcome respite from the humid air and his own sweaty heat, and he realised that they must have been maintaining a pretty fast pace to have made it all the way up here, past Frishman beach. He didn't, however, think that he would be volunteering to do this again anytime soon.

Consoling himself with the thought that most people would have trouble keeping up with Ziva and that it was nothing to do with his age, he came to a halt and leaned over, resting his hands on his knees.

'Fine'.

'Are you sure?' The grin on her face told him that she would be teasing him later for being the first to slow down.

'Yeah'. He stretched out his right leg, flexing the knee. 'How much further?'

Ziva laughed as she walked back towards him. They had stopped beside a bar that extended right down onto the beach, and Gibbs could see tables and chairs wedged into the sand. The hum of conversation was almost as loud as the music, and the clink of glasses made for a relaxed atmosphere that was infectious. Suddenly, he thought that a cold shower and an even colder beer seemed like the best idea he had ever had, even if it was at Ziva's apartment and not by the sea with his toes burrowing in the sand.

'No further'. She linked her arm with his. 'And we can even walk back'.

He didn't argue.

They began walking back along the top of the beach, letting their breathing slow and their muscles cool down, and it was a few minutes before Ziva spoke again.

'I have been bad-tempered the past few days'.

He didn't argue with that, either.

'I am sorry'.

'No need'. He unlinked his arm from hers, and reached down to take her hand in his instead.

'Being a team leader...it is harder than I thought it would be'.

Gibbs understood exactly what she meant. The responsibility and bureaucracy that came with being in charge of part of an armed agency - albeit a very small part - made it a very different ball game to being a field agent. And Ziva had the added complication of essentially having to work with her lover, her father and her brother, in different ways and to different degrees, trying to maintain professionalism alongside those personal feelings that inevitably wormed their way in.

He had no doubt that she was capable of holding that balance. And she was certainly up to the role of team leader. But he was not surprised that she was finding the change hard to get used to, especially now that they were struggling with their first case.

He was about to try and tell her that when her cell phone rang loudly, making their joined hands vibrate against the pocket of her running shorts. Slipping her hand out of his, she pulled out the phone and pressed the answer button.

'Ken?'

The conversation was in Hebrew and, although he was starting to pick up bits of the language, Gibbs couldn't understand most of it. But even in the artificial, slightly alien light coming from the street lamps and cafes and bars, he could see the excitement in Ziva's eyes as she talked rapidly and quietly. The sudden spark, the way she straightened her shoulders and gripped his arm as she spoke...that was unmistakeable.

They had a break.


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm sorry this update has been a while in coming! It's a busy time at the moment, so I can't promise that the next updates will be any quicker...but I'll try my best to make sure that they aren't any slower! Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading. _

_Oh, and I've pinched a line or two from an NCIS episode in this chapter. See if you spot it :). _

* * *

_Jerusalem, 23 November 2002_

Gibbs had never been much of a Bible man. Sure, he had gone to church as a boy, dragged there by his mother. He had been made to sit through Sunday school and learn all the stories and parables, the Gospels and the Ten Commandments, some of which had held more meaning than others to his ten-year-old ears. It had been something which he had to do, and was something that he stopped as soon as he was old enough to make his own decision. He hadn't set foot in a church since his mother's funeral. But, when Ziva had told him that they would be going to Jerusalem, he hadn't been able to help remembering those stories and characters that had been taught to him as history, but had actually seemed more like fairy tales or legends. He had also thought about the bits of later history that he had read before he moved to Israel, to try and understand some of the background to the situation that country was now in. And as the road wound around yet another bend and up another hill, he thought again of David and Solomon, Roman invaders and Ottoman crusaders, and how a small, provincial city in the middle of the desert had become, for many people, the centre of the world.

It certainly seemed, at the moment, like all roads led to Jerusalem.

Ziva's phone call the evening before had been from the National Police Headquarters in Jerusalem. Three men had been arrested after a home-made bomb at a bus stop near the Jaffa Gate had failed to detonate properly, and Latif and al-Tijani were two of them. The third, as yet, was unnamed. When the police had entered the names into their database, the alert from Mossad had flashed up, and they had been notified immediately. While Ziva had been elated, Gibbs had been slightly more cautious - it seemed like a massive stroke of good luck for them, but incredibly careless on the part of the Palestinians.

Too careless.

But still, it was the only lead that they had. And that was why they were on their way to Jerusalem at seven thirty on a Friday morning. As the highway twisted and turned its way up into the lower reaches of the Judean hills, Gibbs was grateful that Ben was driving. He might be slower than Ziva, but he would at least get them there in one piece - and, with a hungover Malachai next to him in the backseat, not getting thrown up on seemed like a pretty good priority to stick to.

'Are we almost there yet?'

He smirked as Ziva turned around and rolled her eyes at Malachai.

'You sound like a grumpy child'.

'He'll be telling you he needs a pee next'. Ben grinned into the rearview mirror. 'If you bothered to look out of the window, you'll see exactly where we are'.

Malachai grunted, and Gibbs checked his watch. They had been driving for almost an hour, which meant that they must be nearly there. Leaning over to look through the front seats, he saw nothing but more bends in the road.

'It is not far'. Ziva smiled round at him. 'But the first view is not as spectacular as most people imagine, at least not from this direction. You cannot see the Old City, or the Dome'.

She was right - as usual. They were into the suburbs of Jerusalem before Gibbs even realised that the city was ahead and, considering it was still so early on a weekend, the streets were remarkably busy. He could see that most people seemed to be wearing more traditional, Orthodox dress as they shopped or went about other business, while every single car that they passed had the Israeli flag stuck to the wing mirror. The streets and buildings - at least in this part of town - did not look particularly smart, and he was reminded of Ari's comment that Jerusalem was like a different world. He suspected that if he had come here to live instead of Tel Aviv, he would have experienced serious culture shock for the first time in his life.

'The National Police Headquarters is over on the other side of town, in East Jerusalem'. Ziva had turned around again to explain to him where they were going. 'An area called Kiryat Menachem Begin. The most direct way is past the Old City and the Damascus Gate, but that is best avoided on a Friday. Even at this time in the morning'.

Gibbs didn't bother to ask why.

The one thing, it seemed, that Tel Aviv and Jerusalem had in common was the heavy use of car horns, and half an hour of almost solid hooting and honking later, they pulled up outside the imposing sandstone complex that housed the Police Headquarters as well as several other government offices. Stepping out of the car and stretching, Gibbs took a deep breath, and noticed that, up here in the hills, even the air smelled different.

He knew that he would not be involved much this morning, and that his role would be one of an observer, not a participant. They were meeting with the police commander and then interviewing the men who had been arrested but, for ease and speed, they had agreed to stick to native languages. Which meant Hebrew for the police and Arabic for the suspects, and no English for Gibbs. His Hebrew was coming along, albeit at a snail's pace, and he thought he would probably be able to follow some of the conversation with the commander. But he had not even attempted any Arabic yet. One new alphabet at a time was quite enough, and he knew that, frustrating as it was, he would have to leave those interviews entirely in the hands of the others.

The back seat was not a place he was used to occupying when it came to investigations, and he wasn't sure that he liked it.

Once inside, they were patted down thoroughly and their gear bags were searched. It was a process that that everyone went through, everywhere they went in Israel - bus stations, large shopping malls, even before entering some of the more upmarket restaurants and nightclubs - but Gibbs suspected that, this time, they were getting away lightly because of the Mossad identification that they had shown at the front desk. They were even allowed to keep their weapons, and Gibbs didn't miss the satisfied smile on Ziva's face as she was handed back her gun, along with two knives and a screwdriver that had been lurking at the bottom of her gear bag.

'A screwdriver?' Gibbs murmured in her ear as they followed a young police officer through a maze of corridors to the office where they were to meet the commander.

She shrugged and smiled.

'You never know when something might need a repair, no?'

Fair point.

They were left in a waiting area while the commander supposedly finished off a breakfast conference call and, although Gibbs was slightly annoyed at the delay, Malachai fell on the coffee machine like it was heaven sent. Gibbs watched as the agent quickly made himself a black coffee with two shots of espresso, and then tipped five sugars, one after the other, into the cup and downed it without even stirring.

Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

'That the record?'

Ziva snorted, and shook her head. 'No. We do not talk about the record'.

'It got ugly'. Ben agreed, and ignored Malachai's scowl as he reached over to make himself a cappuccino.

Fortunately, the commander chose that moment to make an appearance. He was carrying three thin files, which turned out to be the only information that the police had on the three men, and a transcribed copy of the police interrogation the previous evening. It wasn't much, and it was all in Hebrew, but Gibbs still flicked through the transcription as Ziva began talking.

As far as Gibbs could tell, the Commander wasn't particularly helpful, but not because he didn't want to be. He simply didn't have much information himself. Latif, al-Tijani, and another man had been arrested after a rucksack, containing a home-made device packed with nails and ball-bearings, had been left at a bus stop at the east end of Jaffa Road, near the walls of the Old City. Witnesses had seen the three men together, and had seen one of them carrying the bag just minutes before they dumped it. Fortunately, it hadn't exploded, but only because an off-duty army officer happened to have been waiting for the number 94 bus and had been brave, stupid or reckless enough to open the bag and cut the right wire. It was only after he heard that that Gibbs realised why the men had been so apparently careless.

They hadn't expected to be caught. They had expected the bomb to detonate and any evidence -including any witnesses - to have been lost. And that was what should have happened.

He was able to follow the conversation enough to tell that Ziva had started with Latif and al-Tijani, working with what they knew and what the Commander knew to piece together their movements over the past twenty four hours. Gibbs knew that questions would be asked about their own surveillance, but he could see already how this had been missed. Their watch on the men existed only in cyberspace. They didn't have physical eyes on them twenty four hours a day, and perhaps they should have done, but it was too late for that now. Obviously, this was not something that had been planned over cell phones or encrypted email, and Gibbs began to revise his opinion. It looked as if the Palestinians had been very careful after all.

It wasn't until Ziva moved on to the third man that Gibbs noticed a change in her tone. When Commander Levy handed over the file, there was a faint flash of recognition in her eyes, a slight paling of her skin, before she got hold of herself again and began to ask the same questions that she had of the other two. But those questions, to him, sounded more urgent. It was a change that only he spotted, and only because, by now, he knew Ziva so well, but he couldn't follow what was being said. They were now talking too quickly for him to be able to distinguish anything properly, and he was just about to stop them and ask for someone to go over it either more slowly, or in English so that he knew what the hell was going on, when Ziva called a halt anyway.

She turned to Gibbs as the other three men went over a couple of points again, and gestured to the files.

'We need to talk to them. There is nothing more we can learn from this'.

Gibbs just raised one eyebrow, and she nodded, almost imperceptibly, before turning back to Malachai and Ben.

'If you could go with Commander Levy and get everything ready - we will do Latif first, I think. Malachai, you take this one, the rest of us will observe. Gibbs and I will be down shortly, I will just bring him up to speed on what these files contain'.

Commander Levy nodded, and looked at Gibbs as he spoke in halting English.

'You are observing too?'

Gibbs nodded, knowing what the Commander meant.

'Body language is universal'.

And Ziva's, just a few moments earlier, had spoken volumes.

He waited until they had left the room before taking the third file from Ziva's hands and opening it to look at the first page. It did not, as he had feared, say 'Ari David' in the space for the suspect's name, nor was it Ari's face that stared out at him from the small, square mugshot. It was not a name, or a face that he recognised at all, and he felt an odd sense of relief. It might not be as bad as he had first thought.

'So?', he said quietly, handing the folder back to Ziva. 'Who is he?'

She swallowed, and he saw that she still looked slightly pale. A sinking feeling in his gut told him that his relief had probably been premature, but he waited for her answer. When it came, his gut was proved right once again.

'Mahmoud Shehadah'. She paused. 'He is Aisha's brother'.


End file.
